


Of Guns and Little Brothers

by Niel_Ellington



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brothers, Crimes & Criminals, Family Drama, Gen, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niel_Ellington/pseuds/Niel_Ellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every now and then Morris tried to understand how they turned out like this and every time he failed spectacularly. Was this his fault? Had he made some wrong step in trying to bring Mark up like their parents managed to bring up Morris? Had he said, or done, or not done something vital, something that painted Mark’s world in dark shades?</p><p>Or, a story about two brothers, between whom one is a criminal and one is a policeman, a silent hostage and a gunshot. No character deaths here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Guns and Little Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

"Put the gun down."

"Or what?"

"Put the gun down, now. Don’t make me — please. Just — please."

"What the hell are you doing?" someone shouted from behind the fountain.

Marcus shot him a gloating smirk. "You were always a softie, brother dear. Still not willing to make sacrifices?"

"It’s my bloody job to prevent sacrifices," he snapped and instantly regretted it.

Marcus’ smirk became triumphant. "And if it wasn’t your job, would you? My, my, don’t tell me it was one wrong professional choice that got us on different paths."

"You know, these super-villain speeches don’t actually make you look threatening."

"Finish him already!" the same someone yelled.

"He’s got a hostage!" he yelled back. "So will you please shut the fuck up!"

"You do know the way to deal with your colleagues," Marcus remarked almost normally.

"Had to learn through the years."

A few moments went by in deafening silence. Marcus didn’t try to hold back the people, and at some point, gone unnoticed by both of them, everybody had fled the mall, leaving the three alone. The hostage — a girl in her teen years, a bit plum and pale as death — stood still, and only her huge eyes, opened impossibly wide, gave away the fact that she was an actual human being and not a human-looking doll.

"Okay," Marcus finally said, after the silence had started to become awkward, "okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I let her go, you let me go. What say you, Morris? Fair’s fair, huh?"

"You even talk differently," Morris noted absent-mindedly. "What have you done to yourself, Mark…"

"And you still have that annoying accent," Marcus snorted. "Hello! We’re in the US now, no need to be an Oxford boy anymore. So? You get her, I get my freedom, mm?

"We need that cipher, Mark. You can’t possibly think you can walk away with it."

"You have your choice here," Marcus shrugged. "I put a bullet to her head, and then you can try and catch me, or you let me go and she stays in one piece."

Morris looked at the girl. She was clearly scared out of her wits and stared at him with pleading eyes. He could see the faint hope on her face, even though it was getting dark rapidly. He didn’t know what to do. They did need the cipher, but he couldn’t let Mark kill this poor thing. He doubted they would charge him for that, because yes, the cipher was that important, and yet, he doubted he himself would be able to live with it. And he strongly suspected Marcus wouldn’t be in the mood to let him take a break and consult the psychologist on what to do in a situation such as this.

Marcus watched him with wary eyes. Every now and then Morris tried to understand how they turned out like this and every time he failed spectacularly. Was this his fault? Had he made some wrong step in trying to bring Mark up like their parents managed to bring up Morris? Had he said, or done, or not done something vital, something that painted Mark’s world in dark shades?

Could he have prevented all of this if he had known at the time?

He sighed. "Mark, even if you are, or were, my brother, I will not hesitate to shoot you if it means we can live without the constant—"

"Deal or not?" Marcus interrupted, obviously losing his patience. "Her for me, or a bullet and a fight?"

Marcus may have had his fair share of experience in criminal circles, but Morris was still more than ten years older, and even if they hadn’t seen each other for a long, long time, he still knew his baby brother inside out. He remembered the way Marcus tapped his fingers against any flat surface when he was nervous, he remembered how Marcus sometimes blinked too often, and he knew that Marcus knew it.

That was why it took him one deceptive move to shoot and hit.

Marcus didn’t even cry out. Morris quickly kicked his gun out of his reach and pointed his own at Marcus' head. The girl looked frozen and didn’t try to move until he hissed, "Get the hell out of here!"

"You shot me," Marcus said slowly, not paying attention to anything but Morris, and then suddenly smirked. "You see, not all hope is lost in you yet."

"If they let me, I will pass this case along to another officer," Morris said, never once lowering his gun. The girl must have reached his colleagues by this point and was probably safe. "I’m sorry, Mark."

"Do they even know?" Marcus pointed his wounded hand at the police officers running towards them.

"They will," Morris assured him. "It just never came up before."

"But now you’ve got me for that, brother dear."

Morris watched his little brother being handcuffed and escorted to the squad car, the gun having long since cooled in his hand. He regretted all this and dearly hoped he would never have to see Mark again, nor hurt him. But what was done had to be done. It had to be.

"Yes," he said quietly, "yes, I do."


End file.
